Zenjiro stared at her. The heavy intensity of her words overwhelmed his tired brain. It would be a big hassle to decline her offer right now. He didn't have the energy to argue. He just wanted to go to his room and cry.
"Alright, Mother," Zenjiro said slowly. "I will tell you when the time comes. But I am sure there are times it would be entirely impossible either way."
"What do you mean?" Clara asked.
Zenjiro needed a fast distraction to end the conversation. He dug into his logical brain to find a random, completely impossible scenario.
"Like a physical limitation," Zenjiro explained. "What if you traveled far away on a long vacation? What if I suddenly needed a specific medical file stored deep in your personal computer? Or what if I urgently needed to borrow something highly valuable from your room, like your antique silver clock? I would need your direct permission to touch your personal things. But if you were not home and you didn't bring your smartphone, I couldn't ask you. That is one clear example of an impossible request. There is no point in making a promise if you happen to be completely unreachable."
He let out a quiet breath. He had provided a solid logical wall. He started to slide forward on the cushions. He wanted to stand up and leave.
But a steaming cup of green tea sat on the low wooden table. He couldn't just walk away and waste the drink Clara poured. He decided to drink the tea fast and then run to his bed.
Clara watched him reach for the ceramic cup. She let out a short, tired laugh.
"You really love to create highly complex situations just to support your arguments, Zenjiro-kun," Clara said. She shook her head. "You never change."
She crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression turned dead serious again.
"Alright then," Clara stated clearly. "If a situation ever arises where I cannot physically give my direct consent, then I will tell you this right now. I give you my total consent to absolutely anything you ask and need in the future."
Zenjiro froze with the teacup halfway to his mouth.
"If you need the antique clock," Clara continued, "even without me explicitly saying it is okay in the moment, the answer is already yes. If you ever want to open my personal computer, then do it. I give you full, complete authority over all my private files and my emails. If you need anything at all in my power, you do not need to ask for my permission ever again. I am giving you that permission right now, in advance."
Zenjiro could not respond. The sheer, overwhelming weight of that absolute trust crushed his logical defenses. He tried to think of a counter-argument. He tried to find a flaw in her statement.
His mind was completely blank.
The heavy pain in his chest blocked his thoughts. His thinking capacity was entirely limited by the brutal heartbreak. His brain was just a messy, broken machine.
Liora stood beside the sofa. She listened to the entire intense exchange. She let out a bright, loud laugh.
"This is the very first time I have ever seen Onii-chan lose an argument," Liora said happily. "Mom completely beat you."
She leaned much closer to him. She dropped to her knees on the tatami mat. She raised her right hand and extended her small pinky finger directly toward his face.
"Onii-chan," Liora said. Her voice lost its playful tone. It became fierce and entirely loyal. "I will give you the exact same promise Mom just did."
Zenjiro looked at her small finger hovering in the air.
"If there is anything you ever need," Liora promised loudly, "any favor or any wild request, consider it granted. I will do absolutely anything for you. And if you ever need something private, like my computer files or my personal emails or anything else, you don't need to ask for my permission. You never need my consent. I am giving it to you right now in advance. That is the absolute least I can do for you for always taking care of me."
Zenjiro stared at her face. He looked at the extended pinky finger. He felt entirely exhausted. He thought the entire situation was complete nonsense. But he was too tired to explain that to her.
He lifted his right hand. He hooked his pinky finger tightly around hers.
"Fine," Zenjiro whispered.
They crossed fingers to seal the childish promise.
Zenjiro pulled his hand back quickly. He grabbed the ceramic cup from the low table. He drank the hot green tea in three big gulps. The hot liquid burned the back of his throat. He set the empty cup down hard.
He stood up from the sofa. He didn't say goodnight. He turned around and walked straight down the hallway.
He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. He did not grab his towel. He did not walk to the bathroom to take a shower. He just kicked his uniform pants off and left them in a messy pile on the floorboards.
He climbed onto his mattress in his white undershirt and underwear. He pulled the thick blue blanket entirely over his head. He hid in the suffocating darkness.
The silence of the room finally broke him.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Hot tears spilled over his eyelashes. They ran down his cheeks and soaked deeply into his soft pillow. He pressed his hands hard over his mouth to muffle the sound.
He cried silently in the dark. He cried for the fake girl he loved. He cried for the cruel words that destroyed his confidence. He cried until his throat felt like raw sandpaper.
Ten minutes later, the bedroom door opened.
Liora walked inside. She didn't turn the main light on. She walked straight to her own bed on the opposite side of the room. She dropped heavily onto her mattress.
She didn't complain about the homework or the cold air. She was completely exhausted from running in a pure panic around the entire school campus. She had genuinely thought her brother had abandoned her.
She fell asleep in less than three minutes. Her breathing leveled out into a slow, steady rhythm.
Zenjiro lay under his blanket. He listened to the quiet sound of her sleep. Exhaustion finally dragged him down. He slipped into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
He woke up suddenly.
The room was pitch black. The air was entirely silent. He checked the small digital clock on his desk. The bright red numbers read two in the morning.
A sharp, hollow ache twisted violently in his stomach. He felt a sudden, intense hunger. He had skipped dinner entirely. His body demanded fuel.
He pushed the heavy blanket off his chest. He stood up slowly. The wooden floorboards were freezing against his bare feet. He looked across the dark room. He saw the lump of blankets on the opposite bed. Liora was still deep in sleep.
He walked quietly to the door. He turned the brass knob and stepped out into the hallway.
The house was completely dark. The only light came from the faint, orange glow of the streetlamps filtering through the frosted front door glass. He walked carefully down the hall toward the kitchen.
The kitchen in their house followed a traditional Japanese layout. It featured a long, L-shaped wooden counter. The sink and the gas stove occupied the long wall. A narrow wooden island extended outward to create a small physical barrier from the dining area.
Zenjiro rounded the sharp corner of the wall.
He stopped instantly.
Clara was in the kitchen.
She wasn't standing near the refrigerator. She sat completely flat on the hard wooden floorboards. Her back rested heavily against the base of the lower wooden cabinets.
Zenjiro walked two steps closer. The dim orange light from the street illuminated the small space.
He looked at the floor around her legs.
Five glass bottles sat scattered across the wood. They were large, dark green bottles. He recognized the colorful paper labels. They were cheap, incredibly strong shochu. Two crushed aluminum beer cans lay near her bare feet. A small glass cup rested empty on her lap. The sharp, bitter smell of heavy alcohol hung thick in the cold air.
Zenjiro stared at the mess. His tired brain struggled to analyze the scene. He had lived in this house for over a decade. He had never once seen his step-mother drink alcohol before. She was always entirely sober. She never touched beer at dinner. She never kept liquor in the cabinets.
This is definitely related to her ex-husband, Zenjiro thought. The phone call broke her completely.
He stepped over a green glass bottle. He walked directly up to her.
The kitchen floor was freezing. The cold air drafted straight under the back door. If she stayed on the bare wood all night, she would definitely catch a terrible cold. He needed to move her to the sofa.
He knelt down on the hard floor beside her. She wore a thin white sleep shirt and dark shorts. Her head drooped heavily forward. Her blonde hair covered her face entirely.
"Mother," Zenjiro whispered.
He reached out. He placed his right hand firmly onto her left shoulder. The skin was completely cold. He gripped her shoulder and gave it a solid, warning shake.
"Mother," Zenjiro said louder. "Wake up. You cannot sleep here on the floor."
Clara did not move. She did not groan. Her body just swayed limply with the force of his shake. She was completely dead to the world. The heavy volume of strong alcohol had knocked her totally unconscious.